


I Hear You Calling Me

by MusicalFangirl00193



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9462221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalFangirl00193/pseuds/MusicalFangirl00193
Summary: They say that when you hear somebody calling your name but there's no one actually there, you're in a coma and your loved ones are trying to reach you. John keeps hearing someone call his name, and he doesn't know who.





	

“John!”

John Hamish Watson turned around, looking for whoever had called his name. He turned back around just in time to dodge a bullet that would have hit him in the shoulder, causing him to be invalided home.

* * *

“John!”

John glanced around the airport, but saw no one who would have called him.

Shrugging to himself, John continued on his way to pick up his luggage and head into London.

* * *

“John!” 

John glanced back, but all that greeted him was a bag placed over his head and the sharp prick of a needle going into his neck.

* * *

“John!”

John woke, muggy from whatever drugs had been pumped into his system.

“You’re going to say everything that comes through this earpiece,” a voice said, not one that John had most certainly _not_ been hearing call his name since the war (which was honestly the only voice that sounded right anymore). “And if you don’t,” there’s the muzzle of a gun pressed against the small of his back. “A military man like you knows what one of these babies can do at close range.”

John nods, bag still over his head and feeling a bit hot, a winter coat now covering his limbs over something heavy that John guessed was rather illegal. “Now get out there, Mr. Holmes is waiting for you.”

* * *

“John Hamish Watson!”

John turned around just in time to see the genius he had been reading about in the papers since he had returned home, the one who had saved his life that day in the pool, fall from the roof of St. Bart’s hospital, wait, not fall, jump.

John stopped hearing someone call him after that.

* * *

“John Hamish Watson, don’t you dare do this to me!”

John startled, looking around wildly. The voice was back, it had been three years.

“John?” Mary asked worried.

“I’ll be right back,” John said, pushing his chair out and dashing from the restaurant.

“You died,” John stated, stopping the man in front of the restaurant. “You killed yourself, jumping off Bart’s roof. I know, I was in the square that day.”

The man looked startled, but didn’t say anything.

“And why is it,” John hissed, leaning closer to the other man. “That I hear your voice in my head, all the time, calling my name so desperately?”

“Because John,” Mr. Holmes said, his voice even and cool, “You know your life isn’t supposed to be like this, you know something’s missing.”

“Says who?” John sneered, even though the man was right, even though this was this was the first time since he had dodged that bullet in Afghanistan that he felt like this was where he was supposed to be.

“I’m right,” Mr. Holmes said, “I always am.” And with those words, Mr. Holmes, who John knew only from newspapers and a five minute conversation, pulled John in and kissed him deeply and soundly, where everyone, including John’s new fiancé, could see.

When John pulled back, the world was going fuzzy around the edges.

“Sherlock?” John asked muzzly. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” Sherlock promised, a soft smile that seemed both out of place and like it always belonged there on his face. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“I love you Sherlock,” John muttered, barely aware of what he was saying, his hand tight in the taller man’s scarf.

“I love you too John,” Sherlock said, lowering John to the ground and kissing his forehead. “Now sleep.”

And John did.

* * *

“Sherlock?” John whispered, voice hoarse with disuse.

The detective shot awake, his head lifting from where it had been resting as he slept. “John, you’re awake!” Sherlock cried, reaching for John’s hand. “I knew you would, no matter what the doctors said.”

“How long have I been out?” John asked, pushing himself to sit up, grabbing a glass of water that had been sitting on the table next to the bed.

“A week,” Sherlock whispered. “I’ve been talking to you, calling you back, the whole time.”

John smiled. “I heard you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story has not been beta read, all mistakes are my own.


End file.
